“I missed you. I missed you so hard. I parked outside your apartment so many goddamn times like a fucking stalker, trying to catch a glimpse of you.”
I imagine him out there, and my pussy clenches hard again. He feels me moan around his length.
“That turn you on, baby? I can go crazy on your ass anytime you like.”
As I work Rush with my mouth, I imagine him seething nasty words in my ear like he has before, except this time, he’s telling me he’ll never let me go. Never let me out of his sight. Never let me take even one step away from him.
I lose myself so far in the fantasy that Rush’s groan and his spurt in my mouth comes as a shock. I sit up a moment later, wiping my mouth.
His eyes are heavy-lidded as he zips himself up. “Better?”
Now we’ve both come? “Actually, yes.”
“Good. Now listen to me.” He takes my face in his hands. “I’m not sorry for my feelings, but I shouldn’t have tried to force you into declaring yours. You’ve got all your wits about you right now? Then tell me how you feel, baby.”
I stare into his burning, mismatched gaze. This relationship is like being in a Ferrari going a hundred miles an hour, suddenly slamming the handbrake on and drifting in crazy, exhilarating directions.
“I’m not not in love with you,” I whisper.
His lips curve into a smile. “Getting closer. I promised to protect you from whatever happens once this video is out in the world, and that’s in not many hours. I’m not going to break that promise so you better be there at the side of the stage when it drops.”
The video. I’ll be right there, watching people watch it. People might hate it. People might hate me. I wonder if Rush is nervous about it going live. If he is, he isn’t showing it.
“If shit goes down and you run away, I won’t be waiting outside your apartment. I’ll be breaking down the goddamn door to get to you.”
“Anyone told you you’re a bit insane, Rush Osman?”
“All the time. Don’t usually hear that from girls, though. I guess I never had anyone to go this insane over before.” Rush takes my hand and squeezes it. I watch as my fingers thread through his, and he plants a slow kiss on my mouth. His insanity is addictive.
“Have you been to Glastonbury before?” he murmurs between kisses.
“Mm. A couple of years ago.”
“When exactly?”
A smile glimmers around my mouth. I don’t want to say because he’s already so damn smug. “Three years ago.”
His smile widens. “Did you come and scream for me, baby?”
“Oh, please. Girls are always screaming for you. What does it matter if I did, too?”
“So you did. Damn, I wish I could have seen cute little eighteen-year-old you. What were you wearing as you screamed for me? Let me guess. Tiny denim shorts and a white halter top.”
Actually, it was yellow. “I may have clapped once or twice, but I don’t scream for rock stars.”
Rush laughs and kisses me again. “You little liar. You’ve screamed for Daddy plenty of times.”
The traffic starts to thicken as we enter Somerset, and then we crest a hill and I see the festival sprawling across the fields. Several stages stand proud amid the sea of people and tents.
The car breaks away from the main road and the driver shows performance passes to the security guards on duty.
Rush turns to me. “I can’t be with you all day. I’m sorry. We’ve got interviews to do and then we’ll need to get ready for our set.”
“I know. That’s fine.” I know most of the band’s entourage by now, and there will probably be other people I’ll run into that I know. “You don’t need to baby me.”
Rush smiles a slow, sexy smile. “But I always want to baby you. We can watch Pink Floyd from the side of the stage when I’m done, okay?”
I feel a change in his demeanor, and I wonder if this is Rush’s boyfriend mode. Attentive. Making plans. The thought makes my heart flutter. I wonder what my girlfriend mode is. I’ve never met her.
“O—okay. Sure.”
Is that her? Damn, she’s a pushover.
Rush smiles wider, and I can see him thinking, Good, I baby her, and she says yes, Daddy.
But then his smile slips and his gaze becomes ferocious again. “Striker will be around.”
My stomach lurches. Of course. Palatine is playing right before Saint Cyprian. “I’ll be okay,” I tell him, but I can hear the tremble in my voice.
“I’m going to tell the others to keep him away from you. I don’t want that fuckface even looking at you.”
Normally, I’d say, that’s fine, or you don’t have to, but a swell of gratitude and affection stops me, and I find myself whispering, “Thank you.”